“I mean, you’ve always been quirky, but this is something else,” she says.
“I thought you would be mad,” I say. “Nina thinks I’m crazy.”
“Well, I can’t say I’mpleased, but I’m not mad. What I really want to know is: Can you make some money with this scheme?”
I laugh, relieved. “Maybe? But that’s not really the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
How can I explain to her that the project itself is the point? Its meaning is unfolding day by day—we’re not attached to an outcome and we don’t expect some kind of payoff.
“It’s real, Mom. We’re helping people, and besides, I think it’s helping Dad.”
“I’m just looking out for you. What’s happening with your job hunt? How are you for money?”
“We’re okay. We receive some donations, and I’m still working for Paula. Then there is Dad’s income. So all in all, we are getting by.”
“Getting by. That sounds familiar,” she says.
I know she’s referring to the years I spent drifting during the pandemic, staying afloat but never building toward anything concrete. For a moment, I consider telling her that I want to return to school andwork toward becoming a veterinarian, but I worry that she might shoot down the idea, saying it’s impractical or out of my reach. It’s a dream that makes me feel vulnerable in its honesty, and I am holding it gently, like a baby bird or a fledgling love. I don’t want to ask too much of it. It’s still too fragile to share, especially with my mother.
“Don’t worry about me, Mom,” I say instead. “I’ll make it work. I always do.”
A few days later, a supplicant named Jen arrives at our house. She looks drained and apologetic as I welcome her in the driveway.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I had to bring my seven-year-old. His dad was supposed to have him this weekend, but…” She stops herself, perhaps from saying something negative. “Jasper, say hi.”
“Hi.” Jasper is wearing a full Spider-Man suit, minus the mask, and has a head of exuberant curls.
“Hi there,” I greet him. And then to his mom: “Don’t worry. I can hang with Spidey while you meet with the oracle.”
“Thank you so much,” says Jen. “I really need some good advice.”
I set her up to chat with my father, and I walk Jasper down to the dock. He skips ahead of me, his curls bobbing down the path as I try to keep up. When we reach the dock, he walks around thoughtfully, as if assessing the value of the property.
“This is nice,” he says. “Our house isn’t on a lake. It’s on a road.”
“Oh,” I say, amused by his no-nonsense manner. “Is it a nice road?”
“No,” he says. “Just normal dirt.”
I like this kid already. I ask him if he wants to skip stones, and we comb the shoreline looking for flat ones while we chat.
“My mom said your dad is a miracle,” Jasper says.
“An oracle.” I smile. “Yes. It’s pretty cool.”
“So he knows the future?”
“Sort of,” I say. “He helps people see things. He helps them envision the futures they want.”
“How?”
“Well, that’s the magic,” I say. “I don’t know exactly. He asks questions. He observes. He uses his special brain.”
“What’s special about it?” Jasper would make a good investigator someday.
“Well, he forgets a lot of things,” I say. “But he seems to remember what is most important. Sometimes his brain helps him to be very wise.”
